Spirit They've Vanished
by Slivering
Summary: "I don't quite know what's stopping me, because I really want to do it. I think about it every day." He paused then, eyes full. "I think it's you, bro. You're too special to leave behind." - Apparently he wasn't special anymore, because Ryoga was missing, and Ryoma had no idea where or why. Family fic.


**SPIRIT THEY'VE VANISHED**

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** I don't even know. I'm not proud of this.

* * *

He was cold and tired when his mother called him down to the kitchen table. Apparently they needed to "talk."

His toes prickled against the hardwood floor, and outside the glass-paned windows, night enveloped the sky. He wondered what his mother could possibly want to talk to him about at 1 AM in the morning. Maybe Ryoga had come back. Hope crept into his heart at the thought, but he carded it aside. If that was the case, he would have heard Ryoga's warm voice floating in from the dining room table.

"Sit, baby," his mother said when he entered into the room.

He arched his brow, and slid into the seat. She sounded even more tired than him. Her hair was half-mussed in an undone bun, and her eyes were rimmed red. The way her smile twisted made his stomach clench with dread. Something had gone wrong. Something had happened. Ryoma braced the ends of the chair.

Rinko rubbed her temples, and breathed in the steam of her hot coffee. "Ryoma, you know how your brother's been missing for a couple of days…"

"Yes," Ryoma said. "He's just being stupid." _So maybe he did come back. Maybe that's what she woke me up for._

"He…we got a letter from him today. He said he's _finished._ I – " Rinko's shoulders shook, and tears filled up her eyes. "He said we wouldn't find him. The police already did a thorough search, and they couldn't find a trace of him. We could have pushed further but…" She let out a ragged noise that Ryoma took a moment to realize it was a sob. "If he doesn't want to come home, I think it's only best to let him be."

For a moment, all Ryoma could do was stare at his mother. He didn't understand. She was being – she was being _insane._ It couldn't be true. His brother wouldn't just get up and leave him like that. He was the only one who… – Ryoma's stomach boiled, and he felt an uncomfortable need to vomit all over the table – Ryoga _got_ him.

They understood each other.

He wouldn't just…

"The letter makes more sense," Rinko croaked. "He just…he didn't feel…I don't know what he felt, Ryoma. But he was upset with us."

"Us?" Ryoma echoed. He felt like the sky was crashing through the roof, thundering across his kitchen.

"Your dad and I," Rinko said. "And he said he felt like he needed to get away. I don't…I don't _understand,_ we loved him Ryoma, we really _did_ …"

Ryoma just stood up, the chair creaking in. He couldn't feel his body. Ryoga wouldn't just get up and _leave…_ he wouldn't…

Ryoma remembered something Ryoga had said, a week back, before he had disappeared. _"It's only you, Chibisuke. Nobody else in my life cares. Only ever you, and even you're not there sometimes."_ He felt his gut clench in a knot, and the urge to vomit rose. Ryoga missing…it wasn't…suicidal, right?

He wasn't actually _gone,_ right?

Ryoma walked up the stairs, eyes blank and focused on the ground.

Rinko called after him, voice thin, "Ryoma, where are you going?"

"My room." Ryoma licked his lips. He contained a shudder. It was _their_ fault. "Just my room."

When he got to his room, his bed was a shadow, and Karupin's eyes glowed with comfort. He wished – in an odd, complicated way - that his mother would come up to him, tangle him into a hug. But the door didn't open a crack since he'd closed it, and when he dove under the covers to cry, he wondered if it wasn't just Ryoga that felt unloved.

Maybe his parents didn't love the _both_ of them. Or maybe they did, but just not the way they should.

" _Only ever you, and even you're not there sometimes._ "

Ryoma choked up under the covers. When hadn't he been there?

 **.**

"Did he kill himself?"

It was the first question Ryoma asked when he woke up that morning. He felt cold, and angry towards the two adults in front of him. His mom was suffering from a headache, and pouring Advil down her throat. His dad was sulking, eyes sunken in from exhaustion. They cared. But not enough, and never when it mattered.

Rinko looked alarmed. "I…Ryoma…where would you get that idea?"

"Did he?" Ryoma pressed.

Nanjiroh flicked through a newspaper absentmindedly. "It's a possibility, boy." He lifted his head an inch and met Ryoma's eyes. "Not a high one though. Ryoga was a happy kid."

 _How do you know?_ "It was your fault."

Rinko stirred her coffee, and broke into sobs again. Her body trembled in her clothes, her hair a hazardous mess around the frame of her face. "How? He…he said he felt _unloved…_ that we favored you and didn't pay attention to him at all…but we _loved_ him so much. I don't understand. It wasn't our fault. I just…" Her voice was pained and shaky. "I don't understand."

Nanjiroh stared at the newspaper, not reading the words. "Just because I played tennis with you, because you were talented in it…" His eyes narrowed. "It didn't mean I liked you better than him."

Ryoma wanted to scream at them, but he felt too motionless and unreal to do it. He wanted to tell them they were _bad_ parents, horrible parents. Because if his mom really cared, she would be asking him how _he_ was dealing with Ryoga going. Ryoga had been the closest to him out of anyone. If they really loved Ryoga, they wouldn't have suggested _"we thought it would be the best to let him be"_ and would be demanding the police search some more. If they _really_ loved Ryoga, they would have felt that it was their fault after reading the letter.

But they didn't. They were selfish.

Ryoma turned away. "If he killed himself…" his eyes grew distant. If Ryoga had killed himself, he would never forgive his parents. But he wasn't too sure on that. Ryoga had always been a cheerful guy. He hung around Ryoma, took care of him, played jokes and acted silly. He had friends had school, a casual girlfriend.

He didn't have a _bad_ life. He often talked about travelling the word, getting away because he felt restrained.

Ryoma swallowed.

He didn't think Ryoga would actually follow through with it.

 **.**

In a month, word about Ryoga toned down. His mother was prim and dressed for work, already falling into a life that didn't include her eldest son. Nanjiroh hung around the temple, reading his magazines, asking Ryoma for a game now and then. It was like _nothing_ had happened. Only Ryoma felt a dead weight in his chest that wouldn't settle.

It was a Monday evening, after school, that he found a letter lying in his room.

 _I'm not dead, dude. Just in China for a few days. I think I'm going to England next. Miss you._

Relief sunk inwards, his knees weak. He knew the chances had been low, but the mystery hadn't been final until now. Ryoga hadn't committed suicide. He was just _travelling._ Like he'd said he'd wanted to do. Ryoma remembered, with joy running through him, Ryoga's words once: _"You know, our parents are so fake. They act like they love us but they don't. That's why I want to go run around the world, you know? It's not like they'll give a crap. I don't quite know what's stopping me, because I really want to do it. I think about it every day." He'd paused then, eyes full. "I think it's you, bro. You're too special to leave behind._ "

Apparently he wasn't special anymore. But Ryoma didn't care. He touched the paper, and exhaled. Then he went over to his wallet, and counted the money.

Maybe he would just do what Ryoga did. Get up and run.

 **.**

He got messages every now and then. Ryoma's mood lifted considerably, and in a few weeks, the dead weight left. Even if Ryoga was _gone,_ he was still here in his own way. He didn't know how Ryoga got the messages to his house - no envelope, no stamp. But Ryoga could be creative, and sneaky when he wanted to. Maybe he texted a secret friend to convey the messages for him.

 _Chibisuke, I ate a dog. Seriously. China people, you know. I miss you._

Ryoma smiled - only to himself. It was the kind of smile nobody saw but Karupin.

 _England people think they're all that. They annoy me. I miss you._

Sometimes, the messages would be weird. Just little things, like _You would have loved the pineapples here. They have this taste that's better than usual. I miss you._ Ryoga was the only one who knew that Ryoma detested Pineapples after they'd ordered it on pizza alone one night, and Ryoma had practically gagged and complained about them for the next hour. But maybe he meant that those ones there were better, so Ryoma would like them.

He shrugged. It didn't matter. The little _I miss you_ at the end always made up for everything.

 **.**

He piled the messages under his desk. He treasured each one. He read them over, ten times, sometimes. It felt nice, like his brother was actually there with him.

"Ryoma, sweetie, your friend Momo called." Rinko popped her head in the room. "He asked if you wanted to go out for burgers with him. You up for it?"

If his mother had asked him that two weeks ago, he would have said no, and buried himself under the covers to cry about Ryoga some more. But now he had the messages. They lightened him, until he felt happy and whole. He could feel the life in the words.

Ryoma nodded, and propped up to his feet. "Sure, tell him I'll be at his house in ten minutes."

It was weird to see the way his mom's eyes lit up relief. It was almost as if she _did_ care about him, after all.

But he'd spent the last month convincing himself she didn't. He shook his head, and went to change into some nicer clothes.

It didn't matter if his parents cared. Really, nothing mattered except the letters.

 **.**

 _I met a girl. And I think she's the one. By the way, I miss you like crazy. I wish you could have come. But you have a nice life here. Your friends…anyway, I miss you._

Ryoma smirked. So his brother had finally fallen for a girl. He wished he could meet her. But as he read on, he felt this uncomfortable feeling in his chest. Yes, his friends…were good people. He liked his senpai-tachi a lot. And he did have a good life… he already knew that. He furrowed his brow, and put the slip of paper away.

He felt strange, and uneasy, but he didn't know why. Ryoga's letters usually made him feel gloriously happy.

"Ryoma, dinner!"

Shaking his head, Ryoma headed down to eat. Maybe it was the fact that Ryoga had a girl. That things were changing.

Something like that.

 **.**

The letters started getting sparse after a few months, but Ryoma felt better, so he didn't care so much. It was like routine, now. They made him smile, and he was glad his brother was having fun. But he liked his life here, like Ryoga had said. He had friends, and tennis, and his parents were being alright.

He hoped Ryoga would pop into visit sometime, but that was all.

"How was your day?" His mom slid a plate of food in front of him. "You had a tournament, didn't you?"

Nanjiroh chortled, "Heh, I bet you made your whole team lose!"

Ryoma just rolled his eyes. He felt the outlines of a smirk light up his face. "I think I'm the reason we win."

"So arrogant," Nanjiroh chastised.

"I wonder who I get it from," Ryoma said.

"Your mother, of course!"

Rinko narrowed her eyes at Nanjiroh. "Behave yourself," she said, swatting him on the head. As she balanced a plate of dishes in her right hand, she lifted a crumpled sheet of paper from the fridge and pushed it toward Ryoma. "Honey, can you pick up these things on your way back from practice tonight?"

Ryoma grunted. "Do I have to?" He squinted at the sheet. "This is so long."

"If you want dinner tonight, then yes, you _have_ to."

"Che." Nanjiroh sipped his coffee. "You're making him lose focus on tennis by doing these useless errands."

"I guess you don't want dinner either," Rinko said smartly to her husband. As his parents bickered, Ryoma noticed something that made his heart freeze in his chest. He went cold and felt his stomach twist. With a quivering hand, he picked up the folded note and smoothed it out.

This wasn't possible.

It couldn't be.

He didn't-

Ryoma's eyes blurred. "I- I'll be right back."

"What, why?-"

He snatched the note off the table and ran up the stairwell. His feet pounded against the hardwood as he entered his room. His father yelled something, but it melted away from his ears. Karupin purred at him, beckoning to join him on the bed, but Ryoma ignored him. With vigor, he tore open his desk drawer and pulled out a tangle of different notes from Ryoga. He spread them out next to the grocery list.

His clenched the end of the table. Tears brimmed his eyes, and the impossibility of the situation fell down on him.

The handwriting in the letters from Ryoga and his mother's grocery list were the same.

How had he not realized it before?

"This can't be happening." Ryoma leaned his head against his desk for support, overcome with dizziness. His vision spun in circles, and he pressed his hand between his forehead and hairline. It suddenly all made sense. The way certain things didn't quite match the Ryoga he knew – the pineapples, the insistence that he had a good life.

It was his _mother._

Ryoma held back a sob, and gagged.

It was his mother. He couldn't even breathe.

So what about Ryoga? Where was he? What was he doing?

"Ryoma."

Ryoma whipped around and saw his mother standing frivolously at the bedroom entrance, her hands tugging at her bathrobe uncomfortably. Her eyes were dark and tired, and she seemed to realize immediately that Ryoma had figured out what she'd been doing. "Please," she said, hesitantly. "Hear me out."

"Hear… you out?" Ryoma echoed. His own voice was foreign to him. Ryoga was gone. "Where _is_ he?"

"I don't know," Rinko stammered. "But I can explain.

"Explain?" Ryoma said. " _Explain_?" He'd never been so pissed in his own life. He was so mad but he couldn't even yell at his mother. Every ounce of his body just wanted to disappear. He felt humiliated. Embarrassed. Tricked and played with.

"I just wanted you to feel better," she said. "And I knew you'd never be the same as before if you didn't know Ryoga was safe." She began crying now. "It wasn't to hurt you. But I needed you to stay here, and be happy. I couldn't risk…" She sobbed. "I couldn't risk you running away like he did. I needed to…"

 _I wish you could have come. But you have a nice life here. Your friends…_

He squeezed his eyes shut. How had he not seen this coming? This was his mother trying to get him to stay safe and happy.

"Ryoma," Rinko begged after a long silent. "Say _something_."

"It's okay," he found himself saying.

Rinko's eyes widened. "It's okay?"

"It's okay." He nodded.

She made an overjoyed noise in the back of her throat, and wrapped her arms around Ryoma's trembling body. He smelled shampoo and morning coffee and he _drowned_ in how little she cared. She had done this to help him, but she had done it deceitfully. If she'd loved him, she'd have taken the time to make sure he felt better. She'd have been there for him.

This was the easy way out. Write little notes every morning, and voila, have your child back to normal.

He felt a bitter smile form on his face, and he stepped away from her.

She wouldn't get what she wanted.

He would make her regret what she did for the rest of her life.

 **.**

He ran away from home in December.

He remembered the bite of winter chill on his cheeks, and the long, empty white airport at 4 AM in the morning. He was lucky that he'd travelled enough from tennis to know how to board a plane. There had been a ringing in his ears, and the duffle bag in his hand and the clothes on his body had been the only thing left of home.

He stayed in a hotel room in LA. Text messages filled his phone the next morning.

 _Ryoma, where are you?_

Delete.

 _Call me right now._

Delete.

 _You took all your stuff. Don't do this to me._

Delete.

Maybe she would send a police search after him. He didn't think she would. She didn't care enough – it was almost like she _wanted_ to get rid of her sons. He thought about how little she had done about Ryoga, and expected more or less of the same treatment.

He hung out and played tennis. He got a job.

He felt empty and worn out every night.

Sometimes he would lie in a random bed in a random hotel in a random country and wish he were back home. Each city was different and magnificent in its own way, but home was home. He cried on those nights, and itched to go back. The next morning the sun would rise over the city, he would go to the tennis courts, and remember why he couldn't.

He had no home now. No family.

He was alone.

It was ironic that he was in the middle of nowhere when he found out about Ryoga. He'd stopped at an empty gas station in the long deserts of Arizona, and a small, brightly lit television had been playing the news. He'd been drinking a glass of tangerine juice, and counting how much money he had left in his wallet.

"19 years old, male, found dead."

"Body identified as Echizen Ryoga."

"Suspected cause of death to be suicide."

Ryoma drank the rest of his tangerine juice, and stepped outside. The dark blue sky spread out endlessly above him, and the ground was prickly with heat. He could hear nothing but his own heartbeat.

Ryoga was dead.

He'd killed himself.

Now Ryoma really _was_ alone in this big warped world.

He thought he would cry, but all he could think about was his mother: standing with her bathrobe around her body, and sobbing tears of sorrow to the officers. An act of depression – a fake pretending of being a good parent. He could imagine her receiving gifts with tearful eyes and then waiting until a reasonable time to become all prim and normal again. He imagined her forgetting about them in a year or two, until they were a distant memory.

His mother had lost both of her sons because of her own doing.

" _You know, our parents are so fake. They act like they love us but they don't."_

It was such a hazy voice, and a selfishly mean one, yet it brought laughter to his lips.

"Yes, Ryoga," he said, and he traced the empty starlit sky with his hand. "I know now."


End file.
